


The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

by thegreatheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring John, Caring Sherlock, Case Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holiday, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, S4 doesn't exist, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Vacation, ish?, s3 doesn't exsist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatheart/pseuds/thegreatheart
Summary: Sherlock and John's lives perfectly sync each other. From getting up in the morning, to being in the middle of a hostage situation, they always seem to know how the other one will work. One day a case springs up. It's an email from Josiah Amberley, a fellow in his mid-fifties whos wife has gone missing. John persuades Sherlock to take the case and the pair head up to Robin Hood's Bay. Unexpected situations arise.





	1. The Inbox Messege

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is my first fic I've ever uploaded to Ao3 so I'm still getting the hang of things. This fic is kind of more of following the BBC Sherlock's lead with the modern day Sherlock and all that jazz, but it doesn't necessarily fit into the show. After season four I was really disappointed, so I wanted to write what I thought Sherlock and John's relationship was all about. If you want some context as to when this would take place in the BBC universe it would be after The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock came back, Mary doesn't exist and neither does John's mustache. Sorry, John. This work was also loosely based off of "The Adventure of the Retired Colourman" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If there are any grammatical errors please tell me, I try my best to edit it thoroughly but not all things are caught by computers or the human eye. I hope you all enjoy this fic and kudos are appreciated :). 
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the BBC Sherlock characters nor the characters of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's works, this is simply a fan work.

Chapter One

The sun had just peaked above the horizon on a cold, early January morning in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes stared at the street buzzing with people below him out of the right window in the living room. He picked up an object, but this object wasn't any ordinary object, it was a violin. This particular musical instrument was owned by one Sherlock Holmes. The detective picked up his bow and played a sweet, soft, gentle, but not unimportant tune. The man had composed this piece and titled it “John’s Theme," as he played it every morning at the exact moment the doctor would wake up (save for the rare occasions where John would leave 221B Baker Street). The sound drifted through the walls of 221B and finally made its way up to Doctor John Watson’s bedroom. It was a small gesture that John appreciated, even if Sherlock didn't know it, he loved to start off his day by waking up knowing that someone cared about him. John descended the stairs that lead into the living room of the flat. He shot a small smile at the lean detective, who returned the small spark of happiness to his flatmate. Sherlock continued to play as John made a cuppa and popped in some toast so that Sherlock could at least start off the day with food in his stomach. It was his way of thanking Sherlock for being there. 

John sat down to open his laptop that had been hidden under a few layers of documents. He brought his blog up and looked at his inbox to see if there were any notable cases awaiting him and Sherlock. He read one of the slim to nil messages he had received. 

‘Message;  
sent 01/15/16  
From: Josiah Amberley

Dear Mr.Holmes and Doctor Watson,

My wife has been missing for several days now. I have done everything in my power to try and find her. I have contacted the police, but they are useless in their ability to locate her. She has taken a sizeable amount of cash with her, and I suspect she has run off with our neighbor, Dr. Ray Ernest, as her text messages that she so foolishly left open for me to read imply that she was having an affair with him. If you could track her down I would be able to pay you a large sum of money. I live in Robin Hood’s Bay in North Yorkshire and would be willing to meet with you to discuss the matter at a local pub.

Many thanks, J. Amberley.’

“Sherlock come here I think there’s something you’d like to see,” John called to Sherlock, who put down his violin to walk across the flat. He crept in behind John’s chair to peer at the screen. He scanned over the message in a matter of seconds, then took a hesitant step back. 

“What about that would be of any importance to me? Another fit of lovers quarrel, not interested," Sherlock retorted.

“Sherlock, you don’t have any cases at all right now, apart from boiling fingernails in the kettle, which by the way, is extremely unsanitary.”

“Mph.”

“Plus the client lives in Robin Hood’s Bay, I’ve heard it’s quite a beautiful place, and since you continue to refuse to take a break, we could go up there for a week. Plus you’d have a case to solve, it’d be a win — win,” John suggested to Sherlock.

“I’ll sleep on it, but I’m not saying yes,” the detective murmured.

“Fine, good,” John said while taking out the toast and coating it with butter and jam, serving a slice to Sherlock.

——————————————————————————————————————

The next day…

The routinely played piece crept through the walls of the small flat yet again. John noticed that the tune seemed perkier today, which hopefully meant Sherlock would be in a decent mood. The blogger entered the peaceful atmosphere of their living room and took a seat in his chair. There was a cup of tea placed neatly on the small coffee table next to him.

“Did Mrs. Hudson make this?” John asked Sherlock, who was staring out the left window of the flat today.

“No, I did.”

“Please tell me you haven't drugged me again because Sherlock I swear to god-“

“No I didn't poison it this time, I promise,” Sherlock remarked with a smirk.

John picked up a copy of The Telegraph and started flipping through the different articles, half reading, half paying attention to Sherlock who was staring at him but seemed to have zoned out.

“Uh, Sherlock, I don’t know if you're there right now, but is there something you'd like to say or…?” John said waiting for Sherlock to respond.

“Oh, yes sorry it’s the thing,” he said pointing to his head.

“Okay?”

“I’ve made an executive decision to take Mr. Amberley’s case and accompany you to North Yorkshire,” Sherlock said matter of factly.

“Great, it will be good to get London out of our lungs for once.”

“I suppose so, the NO2 levels have been rising in the past few months, although a few days probably won’t do us much good as we’re breathing it in almost all the time otherwise,” Sherlock stated, half sarcastically. John just rolled his eyes at him, with goof intentions of course.

“So when are we set to leave?” John asked, trying to start a non-sarcastic conversation with Sherlock.

“Well, I estimated that the case will take me one to one and a half days to complete leaving us with time to view the local scenery, and for me to collect some samples of bacteria from the bay.”

“Great, getting samples — that'll make the entire trip worth it," John jested, Sherlock smirked at his remark. 

“You never answered my question, when exactly are we leaving?” John said.

“Oh right that, well I booked tickets with Virgin Trains for 5 o’clock this afternoon.”

“Jesus, that’s this afternoon Sherlock!” John exclaimed.

“Yes, it is.”

“Well I’m going to have to explain this one to the clinic, I’ll meet you here at 3:30,” John said while dashing off to get ready quickly.

“Alright,” Sherlock responded, sighing and plopping down into his chair.


	2. The Peace in the Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a looong chapter, way longer than the last one. John and Sherlock's relationship may not seem to be going fast but just wait until the end of the chapter ;). Also, I included a small reference to the drink code, so see if you can find that. Just a cool little fact the B&B that Sherlock and John are staying at actually does exist. God, writing this fic makes me miss Robin Hood's Bay so much, I went there last summer on a vacation and it was absolutely beautiful. By the way, this chapter may sound like the fic is ending at the end of the chapter, but I assure you it's not :).
> 
> Cheers, Casper

The day crept on with Sherlock trying to get a result from his experiment before 16:30 (thirty minutes before the train departed), and John having to skillfully compromise with the receptionist at the clinic to get time off (even though he had already had, “a lot of bloody days off Mr. Watson,” according to “Vicky”). John showed up to the flat at around 3:30 pm with just enough extra time to wash up, throw some clothes and other essentials into a suitcase and head downstairs. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock was already ready standing in the doorway with a small black case and a neatly ironed suit.

“Ready?” Sherlock queried.  
“As I’ll ever be” John replied, with a small laugh. The two men descended the stairs to the front door of the flat. Sherlock walked onto the sidewalk outside of the building and lifted his arm to hail a cab. A stereotypical black car pulled up and Sherlock and John climbed inside of it. The drive was approximately 12 minutes long before they arrived at King’s Cross Station.

They boarded their train on platform 11 right on time, just as Sherlock had predicted. They took their respective seats near the front of the train, which was two seats with a sizeable table between them. 

“First class seats,” John remarked, “How much did this cost exactly?”

“It’s taken care of,” Sherlock responded slyly.

“Right, Mycroft, should've been obvious the moment we stepped into this carriage.”

The rest of the ride was uneventful, John started to type up their last case for his blog and Sherlock started to research the different effects of paint fumes in different conditions. The train stopped at York station and the pair climbed off to board the train that would take them to Scarborough. Once they had boarded John took out a book from the small bag he had brought and started to read it. Sherlock retreated to the depths of his mind palace to reorganize a room that had gotten quite cluttered. That is until there was a notable ‘thump’ across from him. It looked as though John had fallen asleep mid-sentence in his book, as his thumb still rested in between two pages, and he had hit his head (not too hard) off of the window. John continued to sleep, but Sherlock imagined it must be quite uncomfortable to have one’s head resting on a rattling window. So, in a rare act of affection towards the doctor, Sherlock took off his navy scarf, leaned over the table and tucked it under John’s head. Once he had made sure that John was okay he leaned back into his chair to return to his mind palace when he noticed that a woman to his right had given him a peculiar smile. It was a smile that he and John had seen many times before, given by well-meaning people who assumed that the pair were together romantically. Almost as if to say, ‘it’s all right’ or something to that degree. The detective would give people an accusing or disgruntled look whenever this happened, but in reality, he soaked those moments up. As if his intruding thoughts about John were given their daily quota. The train suddenly lurched to a halt as it had entered Scarborough Station. Sherlock hesitantly tapped John on his good shoulder to wake him up. 

“Where are we?” John asked groggily, lifting his head up which caused the scarf to fall from the spot it was perched.

“Scarborough, we just arrived less than a minute ago.” John looked down at his lap to see the scarf which he had disregarded earlier.

“What’s this?” John questioned looking oddly at Sherlock with big eyes.

“Oh yeah that, well uh, during the ride you fell asleep, your head looked uncomfortable so I just tried to prop it up a bit,” Sherlock declared in a quite tone.

“Interesting,” John muttered “Thank you that was… very kind.” John handed Sherlock his scarf, who took it back with his nimble fingers then proceeded to re-wrap it around his neck. The pair then took to picking up their luggage from the station and tried to find a decent rental car.

Once the lengthy process of filling out forms was completed, they walked to the parking lot to pick up the small Jeep. Sherlock offered to drive as John seemed to still be tired and crashing the car would not be a good scenario. Sherlock climbed into the right-hand side of the car, John the left, and they drove out of the parking lot. The drive to Robin Hood’s Bay was quite beautiful. The ocean was just barely visible outside of Sherlock’s window, with the moonlight being the only source of light except for the car headlights. The dark Moors and historical landmarks could be seen out of John’s side of the car.   
“Last time we saw moors like this was when we went to Dartmoor,” John commented while looking out the window.

“Yes, I suppose it was, let’s hope that this case will not turn out similarly,” Sherlock responded, remembering how vulnerable the madness of the case had made him.

“Well, I certainly would not enjoy being fake drugged again.”

“Sorry about that, but I did need to know what was causing the hallucinations, and I had no one else to test it on now did I?” Sherlock jested.

“You could have, I don't know, drugged a guard or something” John answered.

“That wouldn't have gone over well with anyone at Baskerville let alone Mycroft if he found out, which he would have.” John let out a small laugh at Sherlock’s remark about his brother, and Sherlock smiled back at him. They arrived at Robin Hood’s Bay and parked on an extremely slanted hill outside of a local pub. The streets of the village were almost completely deserted as all of the summer vacationers had left for the colder seasons. 

“Can you go find a small bed and breakfast or something I’ve got to meet with our client at eight o’clock at a local pub,” Sherlock said after he had locked the vehicle.

“Alright, I’ll take a look around, where should I meet you and the client after I’m done?” John responded while doing up his coat.

“Small pub on King’s Street called ‘Ye Dolphin,' text me when you’re done and I’ll send you the address.” With the duo went their separate ways, Sherlock walking towards the pub, and John to a local B&B. John walked for four minutes until he arrived at the Manning Tree Bed and Breakfast. He pushed through the door and walked up to the reception desk to book their room. He dinged the bell and waited a few moments for the receptionist to show up.

“What can I get for you dear?” The lady who appeared in front of John was around 60 to 70 years old, she had square glasses that were attached to a cord that rested on the back of her neck, and around 3 necklaces. 

“Hello, uh I would like to book a room for three nights, double room please,” John told the woman. The woman smiled then flipped through a small schedule on her desk.

“Hm, looks like all we have is a one-bed room, will that be a problem?” she said kindly.

“Is there any other inns around anywhere?”

“I’m afraid not, most of them close up for the winter.”

“Alright, that will do, thanks,” John assured her.

“So sorry about that again, it’s just we had a group of people come in for a local conference and they took up most of our rooms.”   
“It’s fine, thanks again,” John smiled at the receptionist before heading out to go find Sherlock. On his walk to the pub, he thought about what just happened. He was going to be sharing a bed with the worlds only consulting detective, and he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. John rubbed his palms together in an act of both nervousnesses and from just being cold. The tidal waves of emotion John felt around Sherlock never ceased, and tonight would be by no means an exception. He neared the pub and braced himself to face Sherlock, even though he had not told him the news yet. John pushed open the doors and walked into the bustling pub. He immediately spotted Sherlock and a bloke in his mid-fifties in the far left corner of the room. John and Sherlock locked eye contact, as Sherlock said something to the man then rose from his chair and walked towards John.

“The loos, now,” Sherlock said, he didn't even slow down his stride as he passed John. John hesitantly followed him the back corner of the pub and into the loos. 

“What’s going on?” John asked in a panicked voice.

“This man will not shut his mouth for two solid seconds, it’s driving me insane John!” Sherlock hissed.

“What?”

“He told me his entire life story in the time you were gone. Even talked about how his mother had refused to buy him chickens when he was little and how that ruined his dreams of joining the school orchestra. I deduced that he was retired, had an old smoking habit which he was trying to stop, a small dachshund, used to be the co-pilot on an aeroplane for twenty years, and had a daughter who did not keep in contact with him before you could save me. Almost everything he told me was useless. The entire time apart from telling me every unimportant detail of his life, he complained about his wife, which obviously means he’s only concerned about the money that’s gone,” Sherlock rambled, his eyes were wild with fury.

“Well, then where are you going from here?” John said in a noticeably quieter tone.

“I hope it’s fine with you, but I have no other choice but to send you with Mr. Amberley tomorrow evening to miscellaneous spots where he suspects his wife and their neighbour may have fled. I need access to his home as I have a theory, but I doubt that Amberley would be happy with that if my theory holds true,” Sherlock explained.

“Alright, if it keeps you from going mad I’ll do it, can’t be that hard.”

“I appreciate your assistance, John. Now I need to tell Mr. Amberley what will happen tomorrow.”

Sherlock and John then went through the door and headed towards the table where Josiah sat.

“Mr. Amberley my co-worker and friend, Dr. John Watson,” Sherlock introduced Josiah to John. John shook his hand and the pair went on to explaining to their client how they were going to try and solve his case. Mr. Amberley agreed to go with John to search possible spots his wife may be hiding and to interview him some more. The pair said goodnight to their client and decided to have a glass of wine before heading out.

“I thought you didn’t drink on cases?” John asked Sherlock.

“This one’s an exception, no data can be corrupted as I’ve stored it safely away, plus I need to forget that awful man’s conversation with me,” Sherlock said, and shot a joking smirk to John. They ordered two large glasses of red wine, Sherlock took subtle sips of his drink whereas John downed half of his glass in under two minutes.

“So am I supposed to just pass the time while you break into the poor man’s house?” John queried.

“Basically, I have a feeling our dear client Mr. Amberley may not be who he says he is,” Sherlock responded.

“Hm, well I hope you have a lead then, I get what you said about him rambling on now, god that man could even bore a member of the Queen’s Guard to death,” John said with a laugh, which Sherlock agreed with by letting out a small giggle. The two finished up their drinks and headed out into the cold English air. The walk was silent for the most part, Sherlock stared into the sky for most of it.

“Despite my ignorance of how space works I’ve always admired the night sky,” Sherlock said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Yes, it is magnificent, when I was small I always dreamed of being an astronaut,” John admitted.

“Interesting, you were more realistic than me then. I thought I would grow up to be a pirate.”

“A pirate really?” John said surprised.

“Yes, Mycroft didn’t approve of my career choice at the time. Although he didn't really like anything that I thought of.” They walked in silence for a few more paces before John broke the silence.

“Oh, there’s something I forgot to mention, uh, when I attempted to book our room at the B&B the woman at the counter said a bloody group of people who were going to a conference nearby had filled up all of the rooms. So she was only able to get us a room with one bed,” John told Sherlock nervously.

“That’s fine, I was planning on doing quite a bit of extensive research for the case tonight, I shouldn't bother you too much,” the detective told John.

“Alright, that’s… good,” John nodded, in all reality, he was disappointed. It was his one shot (as far as he knew) to be intimately close to Sherlock. They entered the B&B, grabbed their keys, walked up the small flight of stairs, and went to their room down the corridor. 

“Wait what about out suitcases?” John asked Sherlock suddenly realizing they had forgotten them in the car.

“I’ll go get them,” Sherlock offered.

“Are you sure? I can go get them if you’d like,” John asked worriedly.

“It’s fine, John really, you should get as much rest as possible, you’re going to have to deal with our favorite client tomorrow,” Sherlock said with a smile, then left to fetch their cases. John smiled to himself and decided it would be best to have a wash now. He turned on the tap, undressed, and climbed into the warmth of the water. He felt his muscles relax and his worries melt away as he scrubbed his hair. He stepped out of the shower and heard Sherlock enter their room. John realized upon hearing Sherlock's footsteps that he had no sleepwear to change into, as it was all in his luggage. After internally cursing himself for not thinking ahead, John wrapped a towel around himself to his best abilities and bravely opened the bathroom door to get his case. 

“John here’s the cases, sorry it took longer than expected, I decided it would be best if I moved the car up he-“ Sherlock cut himself off, noticing the half naked John standing in front of him.

“Sorry, forgot I didn't have my clothes with me,” John said while grabbing his luggage.

“It’s alright I just didn't expect-“ Sherlock stuttered.

“Yeah, well I’m going to change now,” John announced, he then took his case into the bathroom. John could count how many times he’d seen Sherlock rendered speechless on one hand, until now. He put it off as Sherlock simply not knowing how to act in situations like that. He dressed in a simple dark blue t-shirt and soft grey trousers. John then brushed his teeth and exited the bathroom, carrying his case with him. Sherlock was on the other side of the room, sitting at the desk, poking at the keyboard on his laptop. John crawled under the covers of the bed and read a few chapters from his book until he got too tired and put it down.

“Is the light bothering you?” Sherlock spoke, startling John.

“Huh?”

“My laptop, is the light from it bothering you?” Sherlock repeated.

“No, no it’s fine. Goodnight,” John said tiredly.

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock replied. The night droned on, with Sherlock doing some important research about the case. It was around 2 am before his eyes felt heavy and he decided it would be best to get a few hours of sleep in. He put on a purple t-shirt and navy blue trousers and climbed into the left side of the bed. It was around thirty minutes into Sherlock staring at the ceiling and not actually sleeping that he felt a warmth next to him. John had instinctively rolled over and wrapped himself around Sherlock’s slim frame. At first, Sherlock had absolutely no clue what to do, he just lay there staring at John, wondering if he could hear his racing heart. Sherlock hated what John did to him, he hated how the doctor could take down the walls that Sherlock had built so high, with ease. Sherlock loved this shorter man more than words were capable of describing. He couldn't stand that he had let himself become weak by loving John. Yet, he did anyways, and he was sure he would for the remainder of his life. He leaned into John’s touch, and gently let his head rest on his short dirty blond hair, that had recently started to turn grey. Sherlock’s heart slowed down to a calm and steady pace, that was perfectly in sync with John’s. For once in his eccentric, insane life Sherlock Holmes was at peace. He was at home in John’s arms. All was right in the world in the quiet room that Sherlock and John rested in.


	3. A Strange Chemical Smell

Chapter 3

Sherlock was woken up by his own heart beating abnormally fast, the light streaks that shone into the room were an odd orange colour, distorted by the blinds. He felt an unusual weight on his chest and remembered the events of last night. John’s head was burrowed in Sherlock’s shirt, just below his collarbone. Sherlock calmed down upon the sight, his breathing evening out. He cautiously turned his head to see the small digital clock on the bedside table, it read 6:30 am. Sherlock’s mind started racing again as he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. He contemplated staying with John until he woke up but decided against that, the doctor would most likely be incredibly embarrassed and he and Sherlock would probably have awkward conversations for another few days after the whole ordeal. So, the best course of action for the detective to take was to try and unhook John’s arms from around him and squirm out of the bed without waking him. His first attempt at this failed miserably. Sherlock carefully picked up one of John’s arms to move away from his torso when he heard a low grumble below him. 

“Mph, ten more minutes,” John spoke suddenly, half asleep. Sherlock knew that this was just John’s confused, tired brain talking, and despite that he couldn’t help but allow himself to stay with him. It was just ten minutes after all, what harm could it do? He lay there staring at the top of John’s head, thanking whatever entity may exist that the doctor was in a deep slumber. Sherlock caught a glimpse of John’s face when he turned in his sleep. His features softened when he slept, the years of physical and emotional torture that John had endured seemed to have melted away. Sherlock felt himself smile at the sight, forgetting that the world around him existed in the moment. That’s what John did to Sherlock, he was the chink in his armor, and Sherlock would wear that chink proudly to his grave. The ten minutes that Sherlock had promised himself seemed to pass unfairly fast. This time Sherlock made sure to move John’s arms from him very slowly, replacing himself with a pillow so that John wouldn't wake at the loss of contact. Sherlock made haste in getting ready, washing and making sure he was presentable for the day. Once he was dressed in a fairly comfortable suit he sat at the desk by the window and opened his laptop to pass the time until John awoke. Twenty minutes into doing some unimportant work that could be done for their case Sherlock heard a small yawn from behind him. 

“Good-morning,” Sherlock said, still facing away from the bed.

“What time is it?” John slurred, trying his best to wake up.

“Quarter past seven in the morning, we should go downstairs for breakfast soon.”

“Give me thirty minutes, unlike you, I can’t get ready in an inhuman amount of time,” John commented while walking towards the bathroom and picking up his suitcase. John felt odd this morning. He didn't feel sick, or sad, but just odd. He wondered if Sherlock had slept during the night. He hoped he did, Sherlock could get a bit unbearable when he was grumpy, which didn't happen often, but it wasn't fun when it did. John went through his somewhat normal routine before he went to go get breakfast with Sherlock. The two went down to the dining area, got a table for two, and placed their orders. Well, Sherlock didn't order anything, but John insisted he eat something so he complied and promised he would steal something from John’s plate. They ate while making mild conversation, mainly sticking to the case and a few other unimportant topics. John wished it was easier to talk to Sherlock, but whenever he tried to have a meaningful conversation with him, he would just either blatantly ignore him or leave and dash off to do something else. They finished their breakfast and headed outside into the cold air.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” John asked Sherlock, he really did not want to spend the entire day with Mr. Amberley. 

“I wish I didn’t have to send you with that man but I need to get into his house John, there’s vital information that I need to gather.” John nodded in agreement with Sherlock’s statement, even though he really was not content with this plan. John said farewell to Sherlock as he got into the driver's side of the car. John drove off to pick up Mr. Amberley, while Sherlock walked to the client's house to apparently break into it. The day was dull and boring. John asked some pointless questions to Josiah about his wife as they drove across basically half of Northern Yorkshire. John thought about Sherlock the entire day. For some reason, he just couldn't get the man off of his mind. Most days his thought’s about Sherlock were easily repressed, but today was not one of those days. He let his mind wander, wondering how it would feel to have Sherlock’s beautiful curls run through his fingers, not paying attention to a single thing Josiah said. He was yanked out of his day dream when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, it was Sherlock. 

“Hello?” John said into the phone, cutting off Mr. Amberley from whatever he was saying.

“John I’ve figured it out, you need to get down here quickly,” Sherlock panted, he seemed to be out of breath.

“What is it?” John said in a somewhat panicked manner.

“Mr. Amberley murdered his wife and their neighbor, I found a room with no windows and a gas pipe was connected from an adjacent pipe, it was leaking hydrocarbons into the room. It seems to have stopped, but when I started to look around the property I found the bodies of Mrs. Amberley and Dr. Ray Ernest in a garden shed. I need you to bring Mr. Amberley back to Robin Hood’s Bay, don't tell him anything other than that I may have found some leads as to where his wife may have gone, is that clear?” Sherlock hurriedly explained to John.

“Yes, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, see you then,” John responded, then hung up.  
“Who was that?” Josiah inquired.

“Uh, just Sherlock, he says he found a lead as to where your wife may have fled to.”

“Oh good, we should get going then,” Josiah said, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing miserably. John and Mr. Amberley drove back to Robin Hood’s Bay rather quickly. They pulled into Mr. Amberley’s house to his utter surprise.

“What is going on?!” Josiah demanded.

“Maybe you could tell me that,” John said sarcastically while walking out of the car, only to be greeted by the one and only Detective Inspector, Greg Lestrade. 

“Hello, John, a great day for a murder isn’t it?” Lestrade chuckled, eyeing the car in which a terrified Mr. Amberley was staring out the window.

“Yes, I suppose it is, do you know where Sherlock went to?”

“I believe he’s inside, he seemed a bit off, said something about fumes, sorry to run off like this but I’ve got a murderer to help arrest,” Lestrade said, before walking to the car. John turned and headed into the house to find Sherlock and make sure he hadn't almost died, again. He entered the living room and saw Sherlock with his hand pressed to his head, staring at the ground. 

“Sherlock? Are you okay?” John questioned worriedly.

“I’m fin-fine, it’s just the fumes,” Sherlock slurred, waving his hands in the air.

“No, you’re not, how long were you even in there? You need to get checked out at a clinic,” John stated, mentally preparing himself to fight Sherlock on the matter.

“'m fine,” Sherlock said, attempting to stand, then almost falling before John could catch him.

“Okay that’s enough, we’re at least going back to the B&B so I can have a look at you.” John supported Sherlock with his arm and lead him out of the house to start to walking to the B&B and while doing so he caught some odd glances from Scotland Yard.

“Why’d you call the Yarder’s down here all the way from London, don’t they have more important things to do?” John questioned.

“Boring day, they always come when I call. Local police are unable to deal with something to this magnitude,” Sherlock informed John, his words still not forming properly. John half dragged, half carried Sherlock up to the room that they were staying in. He set him down on the edge of the bed, felt his pulse, and checked the rest of his vitals.  
“Alright, so I think you’re going to survive, you’ll probably just feel disoriented for the rest of the day. You weren’t in there long enough to cause any lung damage, so you’re lucky,” John said to Sherlock, Sherlock just stared at John in response, he was dazed and confused. All he knew was that John was there with him and that he’d be okay. 

“You should probably go to sleep, it should be good for you, now that you’ve got the chemicals almost out of your lungs,” John explained to the distorted man in front of him. Sherlock just nodded, then tried to stand up to get dressed, but started to fumble when he did.

“Easy there,” John cautioned Sherlock, helping him stand up. John pondered as to if he should undress Sherlock or not. He doubted Sherlock would even remember him doing that in his warped perception of reality at the moment. He started to undo and pull down Sherlock’s trousers, replacing them with his silk bottoms, John wasn't surprised Sherlock owned a piece of clothing like this, the posh bastard. He did the same to his top, then lead Sherlock over to the bed, lying him down then covering him up. John sat against the headboard making sure that Sherlock didn't start to cough up blood or something to that effect. He stared at the man beside him, even in his sleep Sherlock was the definition of elegant in John’s eyes. He ran his fingers through the detective's curls, just as he had done time and time again in his seemingly unrealistic fantasies. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock suddenly spoke, startling John as he did. Sherlock leaned into John’s touch as he continued to run his hands through his hair. 

“Anytime,’ John responded, he really was milking this for all it was worth. Soon John too drifted off, sliding down further into the covers. The two once again became tangled up in each other. John could smell Sherlock’s scent strongly, he smelt of expensive cologne, green tea, and fresh laundry. He wished he could capture the smell and put it in a candle. Sherlock melted into John’s touch as the two slept in absolute peace. John could get used to this, Sherlock as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one, I really just wanted to tie up the case in this chapter so I can get a move on with Sherlock and John's relationship -wink wink nudge nudge-. I am trying to produce these chapters as fast as possible but unfortunately, exams have other ideas for me. Kudos and comments are appreciated as always, thanks everyone! :)


	4. Beach Breeze

Chapter 4

John awoke at 5:00 pm three hours after he had initially fallen asleep. He looked to his left and saw that Sherlock was still out cold, but he was alive. John yawned and stretched his arms upwards. He walked over to the window at the other side of the room and looked at the dark ocean. It sure was a change from the normal scenery in London. 

“Johnnn?” Sherlock groaned from behind him. John suddenly turned around to see Sherlock reaching at his nightstand, trying to get out of bed.

“For the love of god Sherlock, don’t try and get up, you don’t need a concussion on top of this. What’s wrong?” John said, walking up to Sherlock.

“Ibuprofen, it’s in my case,” Sherlock murmured. John sighed, then walked over to Sherlock’s case and got the medication. He looked around the room and found a glass to fill up water with. He handed the bottle of pills and water to Sherlock who took them with a shaking hand. After he has swallowed the drugs, Sherlock put his head back on the pillow.

“God, those fumes really did have a large effect on you, for most people it goes away in a few hours, especially with rest,” John remarked.

“Well, I’m not most people am I?” Sherlock replied in a cheeky tone. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock, then went to go get dressed before he realized that in his haste to dress the detective he had forgotten to change himself. John decided that it would be best to get something to eat soon as it was getting increasingly darker outside.

“I’m going to get some takeaway at a local fish and chip place, would you like some?” John asked Sherlock.

“Some chips would be good, thank you,” Sherlock responded kindly. John made his small trip out to the car, then started to drive to the small fish and chip place he had seen earlier. On his way, he started to realize that he had never seen this side of Sherlock before. It was interesting, the man John had seen when he had first met Sherlock was not the man he was now presented with. It’s not as if he had changed drastically, but more subtle things had changed. If John asked Sherlock to get the shopping on a busy day in at the surgery, Sherlock would (generally) comply. He hoped this was because Sherlock genuinely wanted John around, and not just because it was convenient. He ordered the food and waited a solid ten minutes before he picked up his order and drove back to the B&B. He ascended the stairs to their room and opened the door. Sherlock was sitting up in the bed, seemingly staring at a wall, he was unresponsive to John when he entered the room.

“Sherlock?” John said, wondering if the detective had simply gone to his mind palace or had just zoned out in his state of dizziness.

“Yes, — medication is working finally,” Sherlock murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall.

“Okay, well I have food if you so choose to eat it,” John told Sherlock, who did end up eating, which was a relief to John. The rest of the night went by fairly quickly, mainly because the two men were exhausted, despite sleeping half of the day. 

 

The next day was freed up, so they had time to roam the local shops and for Sherlock to collect the samples of bacteria from the beach he wanted so badly. They decided to eat out for breakfast at a nearby restaurant. 

 

“So, where are we heading from here?” John asked Sherlock over breakfast.

“Small town called Whitby, few minutes from here, seems interesting enough,” Sherlock replied, looking out the window. They ate their meals and headed out to their car to drive to Whitby. The town was a small fishing port, but it was quite beautiful and had many shops, most of them had closed down for the winter, however. The pair stopped at the few stores that were open. Then, they went for a walk around the different streets and eventually ended up near a port overlooking the sea.

“Interesting this town’s history, huge smuggling port back in the 17th to 18th century, I remember reading about it as a kid,” Sherlock informed John, intruding the peaceful silence that had previously been maintained.

“Of course you’d know that,” John said sarcastically. Sherlock smiled while looking into the deep waters below him.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes, it'll be too late to get your samples if we don't go soon.” Sherlock and John made their trip back to the bay and parked near the beach. Sherlock grabbed some containers for his samples before they headed down to the beach. The frigid winds from the sea were cold, but not unbearable. Sherlock wrapped his Belstaff tighter around his waist at the temperature change. The pair walked down the beachfront, Sherlock stopping at random spots to lean down scoop a wad of green muck off the sand, and placing it neatly in a sealed container in his pocket. John followed him and observed how beautiful Sherlock looked with the cool sea breeze rushing through his hair, little things like that caught John off guard. They were walking along the shore, Sherlock seemed to have stopped collecting samples when a thought popped into John’s head.

“You know this would be romantic to most people, but then again you are you,” John practically word vomited, saying it before he even realized that the words had formed in his mouth. Sherlock stopped in his tracks, turning his head looking at John straight in the face. 

“Sorry, that came out wrong, I didn't m-mean that I just meant-“ John was cut off by Sherlock stepping increasingly closer, staring John right in the eyes.

“Who says I can’t be romantic” Sherlock said, his nose was almost touching John’s at this point. Just like that, it happened, almost spur of the moment really. John tilted his head up, meeting Sherlock halfway, gently pressing their lips together. It was a soft, caring exchange, but took them both by surprise. John lingered, the taste of honey drifted on his lips. He grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head, tangling his fingers in his curls and deepening the kiss. It was the most extraordinary thing John had ever experienced, none of his past failed attempts at relationships could ever live up to this. They were both addicted to this, the thrill of the chase, but mainly each other, and the craving they had for the other had just been fed. John slowly pulled away, looking up at Sherlock with wide eyes. 

“What… Sherlock, what was that?” John said quietly, his voice was soft.

“John, there’s so much I wanted to say, and forgive me if I have taken your actions the wrong way, but I never thought I would have let someone into my life ever. I knew what it does to people, affection that is, and how it destroys their lives. I vowed to myself to keep myself distant, not to risk my career, everything I've worked for, but I seemed to have betrayed myself. Doing that, however, meeting you almost seven years ago was salient to everything that is now. John, you are my work and everything I hold to be the truth in this world, and I apologize if you do not think of me in that regard,” Sherlock avowed looking down at John, not expecting him to say anything. For the doctor, it felt as if years of built up tension and emotions had just exploded right before him and he did something unusual. John Watson started to cry. He cried into Sherlock’s chest, his hand grabbing at the sides of his coat. What was even more odd about this situation was that John felt small drops of water land on his head. Initially, he thought it was rain as it was a fairly gloomy day until he realized that Sherlock was crying as well. He had never seen Sherlock this upset before, save the Baskerville case, but that was because of work. 

“John, what have you done to me?” Sherlock chuckled, the tears still falling down his face, John and him rocking back and forth on the soft sand.

“It’s about time Sherlock, you don't know how long I've wanted this, you madman,” John disclosed before giving him a quick peck on the lips, staring into his eyes as he held his face in his hands. They stood like that for what felt like an eternity but could have only been a few minutes at most. They walked back to the B&B holding each other's hands in the golden afternoon sun that had just peaked out from behind the clouds. The joy and comfort that floated around them brought a smile to the two men’s faces. They went up to the room that they had previously been staying in and packed up their stuff. They got into the car and started to drive to Scarborough station. John rested his hand on Sherlock's thigh during the ride. Sherlock flinched at the gesture but smiled knowingly at John. They boarded their train and took their seats, sitting once again opposite from each other. Sherlock taking John’s hand into his own as he read a book with his other hand, taking his pulse with one finger, not for any other particular reason but to know that John was alive and there with him. The slow and long winters night made its way over the carriage as the orange lights turned on, illuminating the features which were hard to make out in the dim light beforehand. They arrived in York and got on their second, and final train. 

“You never told me why Mr. Amberley murdered his wife and neighbour but then asked us to investigate,” John said.

“Guilt, he was in a jealous rage, couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he had murdered them in cold blood,” Sherlock responded.

“He didn't seem too distraught when I interviewed him, must have just been the fantasy he was living in,” John remarked.  
“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you want to go to Angelo’s tonight for dinner?” John asked Sherlock, remembering the restaurant that they had gone to the second day of knowing each other.

“Sounds lovely,” Sherlock agreed, grinning at John. They arrived in London and took a cab back to Baker Street to drop off their cases before going to Angelo’s. This time John specifically asked Angelo for a candle for the table, to which Angelo exclaimed “I knew it!”, before rushing off to get a candle for the pair. Afterward, they went back to Baker Street, exchanging small kisses along the way. That night John didn't need the second bedroom, contrary to what he had told Mrs. Hudson some seven years prior. The doctor and the detective, slept soundly that night engulfed in each others warmth, the cold air around them being warded off by this. And so it was, the madman and the blogger. The story that would last an eternity in their hearts and the heart of the world. The greatest love story ever told.

-C.L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it folks, the end of this little fic. I thought it would be appropriate to post this on Sherlock and John's anniversary. I really enjoyed writing this and I will definitely start to write another fic soon. The love story of friendship, compassion, and adventure that Sherlock and John had will never die, and I hope the entire world can know that one day.
> 
> Until next time, Casper


End file.
